


Five Stages

by OnlyHereForGallavich (orphan_account)



Series: prompts for my readers x [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Comforting, Five Stages of Grief, Fluff, Gallavich, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character, Sick!Mickey, Sickfic, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:42:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10013528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/OnlyHereForGallavich
Summary: Mickey Milkovich is sick, and he's terrible at it.As his redheaded boyfriend takes care of him, Mickey goes through five stages of being sick.





	

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: i love your writing i had idea if someone can pull it off. the idea is do fic where ian has to take care of mickey, mickey sick, and is awful at being sick.
> 
> soo my first prompt! hope you guys like it x
> 
> look at end notes for the link where you can prompt me :)

   It was all Ian’s fault. As most things were, Mickey grumbled in his mind. The idiot wanted to kiss him in the rain like they were in some cheesy romcom flick; the kind of movies Iggy would sit in front of when Terry was out of town, while Mickey itched to grab the remote and flip to the latest Mission Impossible movie. It all looked great when the guy and girl were making out in the rain in the semi darkness with dramatic music playing in the background. And yeah, maybe it had been nice, kissing Ian while the sudden downpour cooled down his skin, sheltered from the view of others by the aforementioned semi darkness, minus the dramatic music of course. When Ian’s lips parted against his and Mickey could taste the rain running down the other boy’s face, mingling with the moisture on his own.

 

   However, those stupid ass movies never showed the aftermath of the idle, lazy kissing in the rain. Just a couple of hours later, Mickey was completely and undeniably sick.

 

   He remembered sitting in a room with a CPS welfare worker as a ten year old kid whose mom had just died. They had been taken to the office because Terry was in tank and they would have to be temporarily placed until he returned. Ten year old Mickey held his little sister’s hand while they watched their older brothers being escorted away. The Milkovich kids were never really ones for emotional separations, but Tony handed Mickey a switchblade and told him to fuck up anyone who touched them, so that was something.

 

   Sitting in that office, the two were surprisingly stoic in the face of their mother’s death. The lady thought it was shock. It was really just because their mom was a drugged up shadow, nothing about her existence actually influenced their lives. Trying to make sense of the kids’ lack of emotion, the woman had explained something she called the ‘five stages of grief’. It was completely bullshit when it came to losing someone ‘important’ to him. But when it came to being sick, maybe they were onto something after all.

 

**Stage One: Denial**

“Fuck off Gallagher. I don’t get fucking sick,” he snapped at the red head who had been pestering him about being down with fever ever since they had woken up with Mickey completely unable to breathe through his nose, and shivering despite the heat. Mickey wasn’t some kind of North Side kid who could afford going to the doctor every time he coughed. There were more important, more urgent things to do when you were living hand-to-mouth in the Southside. Namely, Yev’s baby formula, Ian’s pills, paying off Tony’s bail; the list went on. Ian huffed, rolling his eyes at his stubborn boyfriend, “Fine, you’re not sick! I’m just in the mood for soup today, mkay?” His lie was shameless and blatant, but Mickey let it go. Chicken soup never did anyone any harm did it?

 

**Stage Two: Anger**

   Later, when they were lying on the couch, watching a decidedly _un-_ cheesy flick, Ian bent down suddenly and pressed their foreheads together. Mickey looked at him in confusion, even more confused when Ian gave him a triumphant look. “You _do_ have fever!” At this point, Mickey was too tired to protest, head aching and throat dry. “So what the fuck should I do! This is all your fucking fault for dragging me into the rain to make out like an idiot,” He snapped. Unfortunately, Ian knew him too well, and was completely undaunted by his temper. He turned off the movie and dragged an exhausted Mickey to their bed, tucking him under the sheets and pressing an idle kiss to Mickey’s burning forehead. He muttered a quiet _I love you,_ grinning even though Mickey’s only response was a firm _fuck you._

 

**Stage Three: Bargaining**

 

   Mickey couldn’t breathe and he had constant chills and the disgusting medicine Ian had fed him had done absolutely nothing to help. His red haired idiot was still lying beside him, reading random websites that were freaking Ian the fuck out. He never knew there were so many diseases with fever among the symptoms. He kept protectively wrapping himself around Mickey and trying to coax him to go to the clinic every time he saw a particularly alarming diagnosis. Eventually, he gave up, but the medical websites had led him to random facts about colds. “You know,” he told his lump of a boyfriend, “Colds are worse amongst heavy smokers.” Mickey moaned lightly, “I swear to fucking god, I’d quit smoking if that would stop this shit.” Ian grinned. He would hold Mickey to that later.

 

**Stage Four: Depression**

 

   Mickey felt miserable. He was going to die. He _wanted_ to die. Ian told him he was being dramatic. Mickey told him to fuck off. Then he had fallen into silence, ignoring Ian’s attempts at conversation and staring sullenly at the wall. Of course, Ian wasn’t going to just leave him to despair. Because that idiot was always _cheerful_ and _optimistic_ and all that other shit Mickey wasn’t. He dragged Mickey back to the couch to play the newest Call of Duty he had slipped away to pilfer from Carl. He bought Mickey a bunch of Snickers. He pulled out the old golden shorts Mickey pretended to hate and gave him a little private show. He told Mickey he loved him every five seconds like a broken tape recorder. By the end of the day, Mickey was still grumpy, but he had to try really hard to be.

 

**Stage Five: Acceptance**

 By the time night fell, Mickey was too tired to protest Ian’s attempts to help him anymore. He succumbed to Ian’s constant badgering; drinking the revolting medicine, the chicken soup, taking a fucking nap and all the other tiny annoying things Ian ordered him to do. He grumbled a little, but smiled at the boy who had spent his entire day caring for him with a wide grin when he wasn’t looking. When they went to sleep, Ian spooning him protectively, muttering an _I love you,_ Mickey responded with one of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> prompts me here: http://immabookgeek.tumblr.com/ask


End file.
